Remembering
by H.dollz
Summary: Ally let's herself remember, for the first time. Mentions of adult subjects. /Auslly.


**Remembering**

* * *

_"You're never serious, that's the problem!" I screamed at him. A smile flickered across his lips._

_"I'm sorry, Ally, how serious would you like me to be? Shall we talk about white wine or politics or the current economy? Is that serious enough for you?"_

_I shoved against his chest, stepping away from him. "About us, you asshole! You're never serious about us. About our future. About where we're going."_

_He blinked, not replying._

_I took a deep breath. _

_"Where do you see us, in fifteen years time? Do you want kids? What do you want to name them?" I realised I might have been slightly extreme with the kids' thing. But I had been so upset._

_"Alice," was all he said._

_"Alice?"_

_"Alice. That's what I want to name her. Our kid." he smiled a little. _

_"What if it's a boy?" My voice was softer now. _

_"With any luck, it won't be," he chuckled. "I don't want to raise a smaller version of myself."_

* * *

What I remember is the roll of his eyes, his sarcastic laugh, whenever we fought. How I would become angry that he never took our arguments seriously. How he treated me like a discontented child until I wasnt mad anymore. How I'd be determined to ignore him until he was sorry. How the feel of his lips against mine shattered my resolve, every time.

What I remember is when I first introduced him to my parents as my boyfriend. How on the drive to my house, he fidgeted relentlessly, voicing his concerns, his worries, not pausing for an answer.

"What if he says we can't date?" He said, nibbling at his bottom lip.

"We'll have to date in secret, then."

He didn't, though. Say we couldn't date, I mean. They became quite close, over time.

I remember how he was my rock through my dad's funeral, before and long after. How he read the eulogies with me. How, no matter how many times I told him that I wanted to be alone, and that she should stop trying to make me feel better, and even that I hated him, he stayed with me.

I didn't hate him, of course. No one, I'd imagine, could hate Austin. Thre wasn't a spiteful home in his body. He never spoke bad of anyone even if they deserved it. Everyone loved him, including several girls. But he chose me. I never understood why, but he did.

Holding the pregnancy test in my hand right days after my period was supposed to arrive is an experience permanently etched in my mind. Those little lines on the tiny screen held my future. All my plans for college, my music career, everything, gone. Or so I'd thought. Telling Austin was hard. I was terrified he'd reject me, tell me the baby wasn't his. I wouldn't blame him. We were seventeen. The thought of a child was beyond scary.

But his face had lit up like it was the best news in the world, and all my worries had faded away. I'll never forget his words.

"Hey, it's a little early, but we can get through it."

And I'll always remember the gentle words he used as he slipped my top over my head that night, managing, somehow, to tempt me into bed with him that same night.

"The damage's already done. Might as well enjoy not having to use protection."

The look of reverence, or adoration on his face at each and every one of my ultrasounds and check-ups is not something easily forgotten.

I sent him out to buy ice-cream. Chocolate ice cream, an ongoing obsession of mine throughout the pregnancy. While he was gone, I felt him stirring inside me, my little baby.

I stroked my stomach softly, marvelling at the fact that there was a small person inside of me. That's when the pain started, the squeezing in my stomach. I took long, deep breaths like my doctor had instructed me, grabbed my cell and called him, telling him to turn back straight away . The baby was coming, and it was coming now.

I could hear the panic and excitement in his voice as he told me, to calm down, not to panic, and that he was on his way. And that he loved me. I'll never forget the way he said that he loved me.

Five, ten, fifteen minutes went by, and I was writhing around on my sofa. I had called him ten times already, no answer. Where the hell was he? I picked up my cell again, but dialled for an ambulance this time.

The news reached me an hour after she was born. I still can't remember the full details. I can't bear to. I remember holding my little baby, my little Alice, and listening to the policemen, my lips against her hair, holding her tight, refusing to look at then. It was a mistake, it had to be.

"750th Avenue... Icy roads... Drunk driver... It was very fast... There was no pain... No pain..."

No pain.

I disagreed.

Alice has his kind eyes, his cheeky smile, his confidence. And no matter how much she asks why everyone else has a daddy and she doesn't, and questions who the man is, in the pictures on the walls, I can't bring myself to tell her.


End file.
